


In Such A Night

by TerrusDacktellus



Series: Lost Continent [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Comics)
Genre: F/M, Shakespeare References, Spuffy, because I'm pretentious as fuck, btvs comics, buffy season 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 10:40:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3131543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerrusDacktellus/pseuds/TerrusDacktellus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A moment on a rooftop, an almost kiss, casual physical contact, stupid spats over nothing, repressed lust: it’s all in a night’s work when you’re semi in love with your best friend/permanent pain in the ass/slay buddy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Such A Night

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime after Season 10 #8

_The moon shines bright. In such a night as this,_  
_When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees_  
_And they did make no noise, in such a night_  
_Troilus methinks mounted the Trojan Walls_  
_And sighed his soul toward the Grecian Tents_  
_Where Cressida lay that night._  
…  
_In such a night_  
_Stood Dido with a willow in her hand_  
_Upon the wild sea banks, and waft her love_  
_To come again to Carthage._

\- The Merchant of Venice, Act V, Scene I

She found him sitting on the roof with his back against the stair well, one leg bent and one leg straight, painted silver by the moon and orange by the sleepless glow of the street lights. There was an unexpected shock to seeing him like this, reading a book and letting a thin plume of smoke trickle from between his lips, a sudden, strange feeling of newness that made her forget herself and blurt out the first thing that came into her head.

“You look like a model in some dystopian, urban photo shoot for a retro fashion mag,” said Buffy and Spike looked up at her in confusion.

“What?”

“Y’know, with the smoking and the concrete and air vents and the ripped jeans and weird lighting … “

She trailed off and he stared at her, his face in shadow.

“You’re an odd bird at times, Slayer,” he said and Buffy couldn’t tell from his tone whether or not he was serious.

“Hey,” she muttered sulkily and he sighed.

“Not that I mind, pet, but did you want something or did you just come up here to make random comments on my sartorial choices?”

She could practically hear his eyebrow arching and she gave herself a little shake.

“Uh, actually, I was about to go on patrol. I thought you might wanna come with.”

“Sure, pet.” Now she could hear him smiling and was it really normal to be able to hear someone’s facial expressions? “Let me just get to the end of this chapter, right?” He gestured to the book propped against his knee. “I’ll be right down.”

That was a dismissal. Not a mean one, he probably just didn’t think she’d want to wait on the roof while he finished the chapter but he still expected to her to go. His eyes had already dropped back down on to the page, yet, for some reason, Buffy felt no urge to go anywhere. And why should she? They were friends, right? Friends could just casually hang out on rooftops together. Friends could wait with friends while friends read their books. Friends were perfectly justified in vigorously nudging friends with their toe until they moved over and made some damn room on whatever it was they were using as a cushion under their ridiculously toned ass. Right? Right.

He shuffled over with minimal grumbling and let her get comfy on the blanket beside him without ever looking up from his book. Buffy sighed, tipped her head back to look at the stars and waited patiently.

For about five seconds. Then she got bored. It was a gorgeous night, crisp and sea scented and she was just itching to get her slay on. She started to jiggle her leg unconsciously, her nervous energy refusing to be contained, until Spike reached out and slapped a hand over her knee to keep it still. She huffed and folded her arms, then unfolded them, then stretched, then let her nails drum idly against the cold, concrete floor. Spike shifted his hand from her knee to her hand without comment. He still hadn’t looked up. Trying to get a rise from him now as much as anything else, Buffy craned her neck to look over his shoulder at what he was reading.

“Do you mind?” he said irritably and she shrugged.

“Not at all.” He snorted.

“What are you reading?”

“A book.”

“What kind of a book?”

“Noir detective fiction.”

“What it’s about?”

“It’s about a soddin’ noir detective, what the hell d’you think?!” he demanded and Buffy, satisfied with having gotten a reaction, slumped back against the wall again and let him read uninterrupted. He still didn’t show any signs of approaching the end of the chapter though.

“You read like my granny,” she observed. His hand was still covering hers and they were sitting very close together, so close that when he turned his head to give her A Look, his lips suddenly entered kissing range. But she wasn’t thinking about that. As if.

“What?” he demanded and she jerked out of her Spike-lips induced trance.

“Like this,” said Buffy, reclaiming her hand to imitate his awkward position, imaginary book held at arms length. “My granny was long sighted but she was too vain to wear glasses, so she used to hold the book about a mile away as she read. Like you’re doing.”

Spike sputtered indignantly, which suggested to Buffy that she’d hit the nail pretty much on the head.

“So what’s your prescription?” she asked and he glared. “Or have you never been to an optician? I didn’t even know vampires could need glasses.”

“‘f you need ‘em before the change, y’need ‘em after,” he mumbled petulantly. He rubbed the back of his neck, a sure sign of an embarrassed Spike and Buffy felt a little guilty. She shut up and he went back to his book, muttering cantankerously under his breath. Stupid vampire and his stupid, sensitive ego. Not like he never ragged on her.

“Do you really think I’m an ‘odd bird’?” she asked on impulse and he sighed and put his book down.

“Yeah, pet, I do,” he said and Buffy frowned, unaccountably stung. He looked over at her, face still shadowed and bumped her shoulder with his. “Aw, don’t get all huffy on me, Slayer.” His teeth flashed very bright in the darkness as he grinned, a bone white crescent in the night. “The odd birds are the only ones worth knowing.”

He sprang athletically to his feet and offered her a hand up, which she didn’t need but took anyway and scooped up his book and blanket.

“Come on then,” he said, heading for the stairs. “Time waits for no man. Or vampire, as the case may be.”

Buffy, however, had paused, suddenly caught up in the view. The city spread out before her in a sprawl of silhouettes and glittering lights, sweeping down to from the hills to the sea, where the great orb of the moon splashed its luminous reflection. She felt an unexpected sense of possessiveness, belonging and home that she hadn’t felt since Sunnydale. The sensation intensified when Spike came to stand beside her, leaning his forearms against the walls and smiling faintly, although she didn’t know if that was for her or the view.

“Nice night for it,” he said. Buffy nodded and they stood in companionable silence for a long moment.

“A real ‘in such a night’ sort of night,” he added and Buffy quirked a quizzical eyebrow at him. “Y’know, ‘The moon shines bright, in such a night as this when the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees?’ Merchant of Venice?”

“I never studied that one,” she said, and not for the first time, wished she’d finished college. Dawn or Willow would have got the reference.

“You didn’t miss much,” he replied, slanting a sidelong look at her. “Poncy bullying wankers for heroes and a simpering sap who inexplicably gets the girl.”

“Will said it was antisemitic,” said Buffy, dredging up an old, old memory from the sludge of high school.

“It is at that,” he agreed. “Still, I always felt a certain amount of sympathy for old Shylock. ‘If you prick us, do we not bleed’ and all that.” He gave her an intense look, waiting for her reaction.

“I just told you I’ve never read it,” she said flatly and, starting to get annoyed, she turned towards the door. Why did people insist on making her feel like a cultureless moron all the time? She wasn’t stupid. She’d have finished college and generally done a hell of a lot better in school if it hadn’t been for that small matter of being busy with the world saving. In fact, Spike had interrupted her education as much as anyone else back in his Big Bad days, so where did he get off on spouting random quotes and then looking at her like she was an idiot when she had no clue what he was talking about?

She clomped down the stairs and although she heard the heavy thudding of Spike’s boots as he followed her, she didn’t pause when he stopped at his and Xander’s apartment, presumably to dump his stuff and grab his weapons. She did wait outside the front door though. She may have been mildly pissed at him but that didn’t mean that she didn’t want her slaying buddy.

He sighed when he came out and found her there, arms crossed and lips mere millimetres away from a pout but he remained silent as he strapped his sword to his back, which Buffy found strangely hot. Maybe it was because the long sheath gave his usual swagger a little extra menace or maybe it was because of the way his shirt lifted at the front to show off those killer abs when he reached behind his head to adjust it, but either way, it was definitely giving her the lusty-bad-wrong thoughts. Wait, no. He was being condescending again and she was mad at him. It wasn’t her fault that she hadn’t had a century with nothing to do but murder, sow discord and read.

With a haughty sniff, she shouldered her bag and started off down the street and Spike kept pace with her, his usual rolling stride giving way to the predatory stalk that meant he was ready to hunt. She wished she didn’t find that so attractive either. After a long pause, he finally spoke.

“I wasn’t tryin’ to make you feel stupid, by the way, pet.”

Buffy shrugged. “It’s okay.”

“I wouldn’t have brought it up, except that it’s a favourite o’ mine,” he persisted. “In that play, everybody treats Shylock like he’s subhuman ‘cause he’s a Jew an’ he makes this big speech about how he has all the same feelings an’ problems as the rest of them. Just sorta resonated with me. Thought I’d share, is all.”

Okay, so now she felt kinda bad. If anyone had experience with being treated like they were beneath everybody else, it was Spike.

“It’s okay,” she said again but she smiled this time and was rewarded with seeing his face split into one of his bright, shining grins. Her breath did this funny hitch thing that had been happening waaaay too often around him lately and she found herself staring at the way his eyes lit up and crinkled at the edges. Was it really fair that he still looked at her like that, after all these years? What did that look even mean? Was that a friend look? A totally platonic, very mature sort of love look? He did that playful shoulder bump thing again and she bumped back and decided that, you know what? All those questions could wait ’til later. She had time. She walked down the street beside, sneaking glances at him from the corners of her eyes and caught him doing the exact same thing. She smiled. They had time.


End file.
